


I Wanna Know What Love Is

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-29
Updated: 2006-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan: Drunk, pantsless, and cheesy. In Veronica's car. :P</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wanna Know What Love Is

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Cheesy Love Song Ficathon at [](http://cheesy-love.livejournal.com/profile)[**cheesy_love**](http://cheesy-love.livejournal.com/). I was given the song 'I Wanna Know What Love Is' by Foreigner which, I can confirm for you all now, is indeed very cheesy.

“Ve-ron-i-ca?” came the multi-syllabic question of her name, a well-nigh guarantee that the speaker of such appellation was drunk off their ass.

Mouth set in a grim line, she focused her eyes with hyper-precision on the road ahead. “What?”

“I wanna know what love is.” A snicker served as punctuation for the sentence. “I want you to show me!” Hysterical giggles broke out at that.

Veronica turned to look – in horror – as Logan Echolls broke out into a fit of drunken laughter in the passenger seat of her good ol’ trusty LeBaron. Her car had seen many spectacular things over the years, but none quite so horrifying as this.

There simply was nothing on earth to compare with driving a drunk, pantsless Logan home while he insisted on turning every single pop ‘80s song that came on the radio into ‘deep and meaningful’ conversation.

Oh, she’d _tried_ to turn the radio off. But he had to have the fastest fingers she’d ever seen. And, although she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off of the road to look, it seemed physically impossible that Logan had managed to duck and dodge around all her attempts to keep that dreaded knob turned to off without at _least_ four arms. And, really, weren’t the drunk supposed to be _less_ coordinated?

“C’mon,” Logan’s voice was suddenly closer, and she glanced over to discover that his cheek was now resting on the back of her seat, “I want you to show me, Mars…”

Veronica reached for the radio knob yet again, before this could get even _scarier_. One large, clever hand dodged right around hers to turn the volume – horror of all horrors – _up_ while the other caught her hand. The two of them engaged in a bit of kindergarten hand-slapping, which had to look thoroughly undignified. All the more so because Veronica actually _lost_ , and the local station’s tribute to Neptune High’s ‘80s dance continued on.

Somewhere, in the back of some car, _some_ ‘09er had requested this song as a backdrop for getting laid tonight. Veronica didn’t know who it was, but when she got home, she was going to get the radio station’s tape of that call and then she was going to find a list of couples who had left the dance early, and she would track down that one name, and there would be _hell_ to pay.

“Mmm, show me,” Logan mumbled, still giggling sporadically. His head had inched over and now his nose was sloppily nuzzling her shoulder. “You _know_ you wanna…”

“What I _want_ ,” she insisted crisply, waspishly, “is for you to be grateful for the fact that I volunteered to take you home before Van Clemmons called your dad to come get you.”

She could hear him pout. A quick exhalation of warm breath against her neck. She could feel the tiny hairs on her flesh rise in response, and the _scariest_ part of this evening thus far was that her gooseflesh wasn’t caused by the temperature in the slightest…

“Show me…” Logan continued to whisper enticingly, body lurched half over the divide between their seats so that he was tantalizingly, impossibly close.

“Are you wearing your seatbelt?” In times of trouble, rationality was often the best weapon.

“The only bond I wanna know is the bond of your sweet, sweet lovin’,” he countered, and – oh, dear _god_! – was he _nibbling_ at her collarbone?

“Logan!” she screeched, batting at him with one hand while she frantically tried to figure out where he’d gotten _those_ horrid lyrics from. A quick search of her encyclopedic knowledge led her believe that things were even worse than she’d imagined, because now Logan was _adlibbing_. Heaven help them all…

“C’mon, Mars, pull over,” he purred, seemingly not put off in the slightest by her knuckles shoving at his forehead. “I’m yours to have in any way you want me.” He sighed over-dramatically and flounced back in his seat, except somehow he got twisted up and fell, limbs flailing about wildly, his head somehow caught under the seat, and one white-socked foot trapped kicking in Veronica’s lap.

This _clearly_ was why seatbelts had been invented.

Trying to contain the primal scream of rage boiling up inside of her, Veronica realized that she had no choice but to do what he wanted and pull over. Knuckles white from how hard she was gripping the wheel, she hit the brake and brought the car to a halt on the shoulder of one of the little wooded groves along the highway that kept the ‘09er district safely separated from all of its neighbors.

“Fuck,” Logan giggled, still hanging upside-down, feet kicking. He tried arching up his body to get out of his predicament, but all he really succeeded in doing was causing his shirt to ride up further, giving her a nice look at a body that…

Well, actually, might have been highly enjoyable to watch in other circumstances.

But tighty-whities and alcohol breath just didn’t do it for her. Or so she was desperately trying to convince herself. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she opened her door. “Hold on. I’ll help you.” Whether she was planning on abandoning his annoying – if succulent – ass by the side of the road when she was _done_ helping him was another matter…

Stalking around to the passenger side of her car in her thoroughly ridiculous costume, she yanked open the door to find Logan’s head down by her boots. He gave her a little finger-wave and a laugh from the floor and, with a grunt, she caught him by the shoulders and tried to haul him up.

Now, one thing high-school physics classes never taught – because heaven forbid any _useful_ information should ever be imparted via endless droll lectures on Newtonian mechanics – was just how damn difficult it was for a tiny blonde girl in a stiff and itchy costume to drag a drunk guy twice her weight, who was wearing pretty much nothing but his underwear by this point, from a position almost completely upside-down until he was roughly rightside-up again.

There was grunting, and there are groaning, and there was swearing. There was also jabbing and rubbing and accidental grabbing of places that caused moaning and led to her letting out a horrified yelp and backing away from the car while he was still roughly horizontal and flailing about with his arms hanging out the passenger side door.

“Ve-rrrrrron-ic-a?” he called out, apparently not having fully processed how her hand had slipped on his waist and found something down below that was quite eager to make her acquaintance.

“Oh…oh, _god_!” Her entire body felt warm, flushed… And, yeah, part of that was embarrassment, but another very big part of it was… “Oh, dear god, no…” she whimpered.

Because, yes, Logan Echolls was drunk and clumsy and pathetic and _wearing tighty-whities for crying out loud!_ But he was also so very, very hot. Incredibly, mind-numbingly hot. And, lying there with that drunken smile on his face and his shirt bunched up around his armpits, he had no idea just _how_ hot he was. Muscles flexed and rippled as he squirmed against her car seat, and…

“Don’t look, Veronica,” she whispered fortifying words to herself as she dared to return unto the breech. “Just don’t look…”

“I’m stuck.” Yes, he was just now realizing this, and the way his brow furrowed in sudden puzzlement at his predicament was far more adorable than it had any right to be.

“I’ve got you,” she assured him, and this time at least he was helping her rather than flopping around uselessly. With their limbs tangled and bodies slick with sweat and exertion, Logan was finally righted once more. Thank heaven for small miracles.

Of course, now she was faced with the very thorny predicament that she was wedged back against the car seat, and Logan’s body was leaning back heavily against her. For the purposes of breathing, this wasn’t so good.

“Mmm, comfortable…” Logan murmured, slumping against her like she was some kind of pillow.

“Mmm, _squished_ ,” she retorted, giving him a gentle shove.

“Knew you wanted me, Mars,” Logan made a strange snuffling sound and leaned his head all the way back until it rested on her shoulder. His head was heavy, just like the rest of him. “I’ve seen the way you look at my ass, y’know…” His eyelids fluttered shut with the blissful smile on his face.

It was all too clear that he was very happy thinking about her and his ass in conjunction with each other. And not just by the expression on his face, either. The tighty-whities were forming quite the circus tent at the moment.

Veronica gulped. Because, as much as she wanted to deny it… Well, there were certain things in this world that were completely irresistible. Rocky-road ice cream. Kittens and puppies. Mocking Dick Casablancas. And, above all, Logan Echolls’ ass.

It was one of the central tenets of Neptune High, in fact: Logan had a _hot_ ass. This assessment was pretty much universal among the straight female population, and most likely the gay male population, as well. Back when Logan had still been on the swim team, whispers of Speedos echoed through the halls all throughout the day, and suddenly – miraculously – the otherwise unpopular sport had a very large female audience that evening. It was just a fine, fine ass. Full and round and so very bitable… And it wasn’t Veronica’s fault that she was only human.

Just like it wasn’t her fault for reacting the way she did now that that ass was pressed firmly against her thigh. “Okay!” Her voice _really_ shouldn’t have that excited little squeak to it. “It’s time we got you home, because y-you’re…”

“Mmm, what?”

“Crushing me?” she offered in reminder, giving his head a little shove.

“Mmm, right…” Logan settled down more properly in his seat, and she took the opportunity to squirm out from behind him. A part of her was almost disappointed, except for the fact that it seemed he’d firmly entered ‘half-asleep drunk’ mode.

It was best to take advantage of the break in the near-constant flirting while she could.

Making sure that, goddammit, his seat-belt was actually _fastened_ this time, she secured him in his seat before making her way around to the driver’s side yet again. Logan’s head dipped sleepily when she started the car again, but he didn’t say anything beyond at incoherent mutter.

Of course, once the engine started, the damn radio that she’d forgotten he’d been keeping firmly in the ‘on’ position started blasting away again: _“I want you to shoooow me!”_ With an angry flick of her wrist, she turned it off and pulled back onto the road. That was it. Foreigner!Boy, whoever he was, was dead.

A muttered “show me” was Logan’s only response.

Taking deep, regular, calming breaths, Veronica navigated her way through the tidy and expensive streets of enemy territory. She still knew the way to the Echolls’ house far too well. Given that she and Logan were supposed to hate each other, they sure came over to visit each other a lot. The outline of the house could just be made out in the dim lights over the front gate. One of the upstairs lights was on, creating a small orange window of light into Logan’s currently very depressing home life.

She nudged The Pantsless Wonder in the side, and a long snore transformed into a startled gasp as he woke up.

“Bwuh?” He blinked at her owlishly.

“You’re home. Undamaged, even. And don’t forget: I _always_ accept tips.”

“Yeah, that’s what the JV football team said,” Logan mumbled, half-conscious and already snarking. Such a prince.

“I’m going to do you a favor, because you’re clearly drunk and miserable, and just forget you said that, okay?” she snapped icily. Funny how a few sharp barbs could transform Logan from looking like a lickable popsicle into a full-fledged jackass once more.

He blinked slowly, closing and opening each eye in turn, like his vision was blurry. Finally, he smacked his lips, made a face, and looked around him. “Where are we?” he asked, confused.

She gestured to the _really big_ iron gates right next to the car. “Your house?” she repeated for him very slowly.

He shook his head, gently and first but then more vigorously until he lost his balance and had to prop himself up on the dash. “No…” he offered weakly.

“You’re not going to be sick, are you?” Veronica asked, nervous for the condition of her car. If she were to ever come into contact with any of Logan Echolls’ bodily fluids, vomit was pretty much at the bottom of the list. What was frightening was how a couple of options she would’ve retched at herself only months ago had inched their way further and further up that list…

“I’m fine,” he insisted, although he looked a little pale.

“Logan?” she offered hesitantly. It was clear that something was wrong.

“I… Can you just take me to a motel or something?” he requested, voice shaking.

She frowned. “If that’s your idea of a pick-up line…” she began.

“No.” He gulped. “I just can’t come home drunk.” He looked up at her with big, dark eyes and then glanced back at the house.

Veronica remembered that one light that was still on. That, and whispered insinuations that made so many little fragments about him make so much sense: _“Cigarette burns and broken noses. Oh, the stories you used to tell…”_

“O-Okay,” she offered nervously and pulled away from the curb. Because, even when he’d been at his worst, the thought of Logan Echolls in pain just made something _hurt_ deep inside her chest. “Is there anywhere…” She gulped. “Anywhere I can take you?”

“Any place works. Sheraton’s closest.” He said that with the easy knowledge of someone who had ended up there on far too many nights.

Veronica’s grip tightened on the wheel. “I mean do you have anyone else you can stay with?” she clarified softly, like she was afraid that speaking too loudly would break him.

He shrugged and closed his eyes again.

She supposed that sleepy!drunk was better than depressed!drunk. Logan was making a good go at the first, although she couldn’t be sure he’d succeeded. She turned left off of Belmont and headed back out of the ‘09er district.

“That’s where the tour groups meet, you know,” Logan commented lightly from the passenger seat.

“Mmm?” Veronica questioned as she stopped at a light.

“They meet at the Sheraton so that they can tour _all_ the celebrity houses. Ours is second on the trip,” he clarified.

She bit her lip.

“You’d think they’d have a little decency after what happened to my mom, right?” he offered with a shaky laugh. “But they’ve just gotten worse…” His voice was just so _ragged_ at the end, broken.

Veronica took a deep breath, reached over, and rested her hand on his thigh in a comforting gesture. It didn’t even matter that he wasn’t wearing pants and his skin was bare and warm against her palm and, really, he had pretty sexy legs. Well, okay, it _mattered_ , but not as much as _he_ mattered in that moment.

“Where are we going?” he asked after a few quiet minutes of driving ticked by. He’d opened his eyes and could see now that they weren’t heading for the Sheraton.

“A friend’s,” she offered simply. “Unless you wanted to…?”

“No.” He said it so vehemently, there was absolutely no doubt that he didn’t want a damn thing to do with the place that had been sending gawkers to his mother’s funeral.

Her thumb drew a reassuring little circle on the inside of his thigh. She felt the muscle tense for a moment, before his hand came up to cover hers. She tried to pull away, embarrassed, but he held her in place, contemplating their intertwined fingers.

And then he started chuckling, still half-drunk despite the previous sobering moment.

“What?” she demanded, glancing over at him nervously, while trying to keep her eyes on the road at the same time.

“You wouldn’t even believe me…” he continued to laugh and gave her hand a little squeeze as he did so.

“ _What_?” Dammit, now she was _curious_!

“It’s just that… Well, back before, umm…” A sigh. “Back before the Sunset Regent…”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah?” There probably wasn’t any point in dwelling on that pain anymore than he had already.

He smiled softly at looked at her, as if the fine mix of alcohol and half-naked exhibition had succeeded, for the moment, in brushing the incident from his mind. “I was kind of, maybe…” He giggled at looked away.

“What?” she demanded. This was just turning into torture now. ‘Keep the information away from Veronica.’ Didn’t he know that was cruel and unusual?

He mumbled something under his breath.

“Louder, please?” she wheedled, turning to look straight at him as they stopped at another light.

He smiled shyly to himself and looked at their hands. “Thought about asking you to the dance,” he mumbled, just barely audibly.

She blinked. She couldn’t _possibly_ have just heard that right. Right? “Excuse me?” she repeated.

“I was gonna ask you to the dance, all right?” he repeated defensively.

“Because…you’re a masochist?” she retorted, voice dripping sarcasm.

“Because I…” He trailed off. “You know, just forget it.” His hand left hers, and he turned away from her to look out the window.

She drew her hand back slowly, mind trying to process what she’d just heard. Clearly, this was one of the signs of the apocalypse. The honk of the car behind her snapped her out of her stupor, and she drove on past the now long-green light.

An awkward silence filled the car for a few minutes, then:

“What? You would have said ‘no’?” he demanded.

She worried her lip between her teeth.

“Tell me the truth, Veronica.”

“I…” She let out a rush of air. “I have no clue what I would have said, all right?” Which really was the honest truth. What did one say when asked to be bride of Satan? Veronica guessed that most women just gaped in stunned disbelief. That was certainly her reaction.

“Good thing I didn’t ask you, then,” he retorted.

She couldn’t help but grin at that. “Yeah, I probably would have made you wear pants…”

“Probably?” Oh, he was definitely sobering up now. That annoying so-called ‘wit’ of his was returning.

She glanced over at him and then looked pointedly down to where the circus was still ready for the next performance. “There are certain advantages to the lack of pants,” she conceded.

He actually _blushed_ and pulled his shirt back down, trying to conceal the party within his tighty-whities.

She smiled to herself. This was actually a situation she could get used to…

He coughed pointedly and looked around when she parked on the street. “Where are we?”

“The ’04 district,” she retorted, hopping out of the car. She came around to his side and opened the door. He’d actually figured his way out of his seatbelt by then. Which meant that now _two_ braincells had woken up from his alcoholic stupor and were rubbing together to create some basic thought processes.

“You’re _such_ a gentleman,” he teased as she held the door open for him and helped him get out. He wasn’t exactly steady on his feet, but after recent revelations she had to wonder whether he really needed to lean on her as much as he was.

The thought had her a bit shaky on her feet, as well. It didn’t help that his arm was wrapped around her, and her cheek was pressed against the hard plane of his chest. She took in a deep, shivering breath, and – _god_! – did he smell good…

“L-Let’s go,” she offered with a little smile as she led him up to the house and rapped on the door.

Logan blinked blearily when Alicia opened it, clearly confused.

“Veronica?” Alicia offered in surprise.

Veronica smiled wide and acted like appearing at her dad’s girlfriend’s door at midnight while wearing a whore Madonna outfit with a drunk, pantsless guy hanging off her arm wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. “Is your guest house still open?”

Alicia blinked once, twice. She and Logan obviously shared the same ‘huh?’ state of mind at the moment. “I don’t think…” Alicia began carefully, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

“This is my… _friend_ ,” Veronica offered after a moment’s hesitation. “He’s drunk. He needs a place to stay.”

Alicia crossed her arms over her chest skeptically but let them into the house. “And won’t this ‘friend’s parents worry about him?” she demanded.

Veronica left Logan propped up against the couch and gestured for Alicia to come aside with her.

Reluctantly, the older woman followed.

“His mom just killed herself,” she whispered once she was sure they were out of earshot. There was no doubt whatsoever that Logan would throw a hissy-fit if he decided so much as a molecule of sympathy was being offered in his direction. “That’s why he’s drunk.” A moment’s hesitation. “Well, that and he’s sort of a party guy…” she admitted sheepishly.

The last part didn’t seem to matter, though. Alicia’s eyes widened, and she glanced back at Logan. In typical Logan fashion, he looked horribly huggable and lost in that moment. Veronica could see the exact moment that all of Alicia’s maternal instincts kicked into overdrive.

“And you _know_ I can’t take a pantsless guy back home to dad,” Veronica continued hopefully.

Alicia smiled ruefully in acknowledgment of _that_ little kernel of wisdom. “What about _his_ father?” she asked softly.

“He tends to have these unfortunate ‘accidents’,” Veronica included the air quotes for good measure, “whenever he and his dad are left alone for too long. That’s why I can’t take him home. Can he…?”

The keys to the guest house were in her hand before she could finish her question. If anything in the universe could make her amenable to her father’s latest girlfriend, this was it.

“Thank you _so_ much,” Veronica said sincerely, turning back to where Logan was flicking absentmindedly at the corner lampshade.

Alicia just smiled and nodded and closed the door behind them for the night.

Any confusion Logan might had have was assuaged when she opened the door to the guest house. “This is better than a motel?” he inquired.

“Not all of us have money to waste.”

“But, I do.”

“And you’re hiding your wallet _where_ , exactly, in that cute little ensemble?” She looked him up and down appreciatively.

He blushed again and stumbled into the guest house rather than acknowledging her point.

Oh yes, she was _really_ starting to enjoy the fact that she now knew that Logan had a little crush on her. This information was far too delightful not to exploit at every turn.

She followed him in and found that he’d quite nicely found the bed to pass out in. His face was smushed into the pillow, and that gorgeous butt of his was sticking up nicely, offering her an excellent view. Reluctantly, she left him there and dug around in the closet for the spare gym bag she’d left at Wallace’s last week. Sure enough, there it was, stored safely away from Alicia’s immaculate house. Removing the sweats from inside, Veronica kicked off her cumbersome boots and then padded her way past Logan’s sleeping form and into the bathroom.

Never, in the history of all the world, did sweats feel more comfortable than after being trapped in that horrible get-up she’d been wearing. And truly there _was_ a god, and he’d invented sinks for quick face washes and hair shampooing. All the hairspray wasn’t entirely out, she was certain, but at least her hair wasn’t a solid mass of plastic anymore.

With a sigh of relief, she emerged from the bathroom to find Logan, prone on the bed, head twisted to one side to look at her. “Hey,” he muttered sleepily.

“Hey…” she offered in return, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him.

He gulped, and she watched his throat move, his Adam’s apple bobbing in an enticing manner. “Stay?” he finally asked softly.

A wave of heat rushed through her body at his request. Because, really, she shouldn’t even be considering it. He was _Logan Echolls_ , for crying out loud! A-And…

 _Tighty-whities. Just remember the tighty-whities and be strong…_

And then, an oh-so-evil voice in the back of her mind intruded:

 _The tighty-whities…come off._

A sound halfway between a distressed gurgle and a whimper escaped her lips at the thought.

“N-Not like that,” he amended, noticing how torn she looked. “Just… Don’t leave me alone.”

She nodded slowly and surrendered. She could give him at least that. It was better than endless internal debates about whether to give him _more_.

She nudged him slightly to make room and then slid into bed beside him. They both shifted for a few seconds, not used to sharing a bed, and _certainly_ not used to sharing a bed with each other.

They eventually lay in silence, on their sides, facing each other, and just breathing slowly. And Veronica was surprised by just how _nice_ it felt. Slowly, before she realized what she was doing, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his in a soft, chaste kiss.

His licked his lips when she pulled away, eyes black in the dark of the night. “Was that so bad?” he asked curiously.

“No,” she agreed.

“See, Mars? You should have just listened to me in the first place. It would’ve been easier.” He sidled closer to her, and there was no question how his arms got around her, but how _her_ arms ended up wrapped around _him_ , holding him close? That was certainly a mystery for the ages.

“Huh?” And wasn’t he the one who was supposed to be drunk and not understanding a thing?

He gave her an evil little smile. “I told you I wanted to know what love is.”

“Oh… _god_!” She rolled her eyes heavenwards at how incredibly _lame_ he was.

He just laughed as he settled into sleep beside her. “Thanks for showing me…”

And, if a warm, sleeping Logan was her reward, rather than a night of heartbreak at the hands of her ex, then maybe showing him had been worth it all, after all. For now, she could definitely see the advantages to just being like this…

And, of course, it helped that, later that night, they fucked.


End file.
